Harry Potter and the Hunter's Legacy
by VanHelsing777
Summary: PostOOTP, Harry makes some new friends who teach him some valuable lessons about life, love, good, evil, and help him fulfill his destiny. UPDATE: At this moment doing some serious editing, have removed last four chapters stay tuned.
1. Prologue: The Hunters

Prologue: The Hunters

**Early June, 1992**

"Mien Herr?"

The dark man stopped and turned, his face hidden beneath a veil of shadow.

"Jawohl?"

The young hunter felt his heart leap into his throat. After all, it wasn't everyday that one was addressed by a living legend, especially one of this magnitude.

"Herr Baron, the Superior has requested that you come to his cell immediately. He has some vital issues he wishes to consult you on."

"Did he say what they were?"

"No."

"Very well," he replied, and turned down the corridor

As he walked down the Gothic corridors the baron heard the bells toll out six o'clock; they were quickly followed by the melodious sounds of a Gregorian chant wafting down the hall. Vespers. The baron paused and bowed his head, offering up a quick prayer for his fallen comrades, and his family. _Kyrie elieson_…Lord have mercy. _Dies Irae…_

Soon he came up to a large wooden door, unmarked except for a simple silver cross; a necessary precaution in their line of work. He knocked three times, and the door opened slowly. The baron quietly stepped in, and the door closed behind him.

The Superior's cell was sparsely decorated. A cot, a kneeler, a desk, a chair and a wardrobe were all that decorated the expansive room. There were no personal items, no images of his home or family, nothing to hint at his past life. Just an ornate gold crucifix, half-buried under a pile of scrolls and parchment on the table, a gift from his fiancée, who had fallen victim to the vampiric curse fifty years ago.

"Father Superior?" He called out.

A door opened on the other side of the room and the superior stepped out of his private washroom, followed by a figure cloaked in a deep purple robe.

"Ah, Baron von Hess, so good of you to come."

Von Hess genuflected on his left knee and kissed the Superior's ring.

"Always glad to be of service, Father."

The Superior smiled sadly, then turned and walked over to his desk. As he sat down he folded his hands and fixed Von Hess with a compassionate look. Meanwhile, Von Hess arose and took a seat opposite the Superior while the cloaked stranger took a third seat, far away from the other two, still hidden in the shadows. Von Hess regarded him suspiciously, but made no move. His hunter senses weren't reacting, so he forced himself to remain calm.

"Do you know the reason I have summoned you here before you left, my son?"

"I must confess to ignorance in that matter, Father."

"Are you aware of the latest going-ons in the wizarding world?"

"Nothing comes immediately to mind, Father."

"You know nothing of the current events at Hogwarts?"

"No Father, I…" Von Hess paused, suddenly remembering; a random bit of information he had heard while talking with the abbey's alchemist. Of course! How could he forget? It was only the biggest news in the alchemist community since its discovery. "The Sorcerer's Stone. I remember now; the Stone was being kept at Hogwarts for safe-keeping, but someone managed to break in and steal it. They failed to get it out, though, and the Stone was later destroyed."

"Nothing else?"

"That's all the alchemist would tell me, but I suspect he knew more than he was letting on."

"That's true. I placed him under an obedience not to discuss the Stone with anybody, except to give the bare outline of the story."

"If that's the case Father, you could have just left me a copy of the _Daily Prophet_."

"Yes, that's true. What was it you always said about the _Prophet_ my son?"

"Oh, well while what it tells us may fill a newspaper, what it _doesn't _tell us could fill an encyclopedia." As he said this he stopped, suddenly realizing what was going on. "And that is why you called me down here, isn't it Father? To tell me about what it hasn't told us?"

Suddenly, the cloaked figure spoke out from the shadows. "As usual, Wolfgang, you keen intellect never ceases to fail you. Your ability to discover the answer by simply piecing together the tiniest bits of information is simply astonishing." As he said this he stood up, stepped into the light and pulled back his hood.

"Headmaster!" Von Hess jumped out of his seat, shocked and overjoyed at seeing his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "It's a pleasure seeing you again Wolfgang. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"The feeling is shared, Headmaster," Von Hess replied as they shook hands and resumed their seats. "I take it there's more to this matter, then merely a pivotal event in the annals of alchemic lore?"

"Unfortunately yes. It has to do with who tried to steal the Stone."

"It was one of you teachers, wasn't it Headmaster?"

"Only partially. He was merely a tool, an instrument. The real mastermind behind the plot was none other the Lord Voldemort." A heavy silence permeated the room.

"Wolfgang?"

"It had to end sometime, I suppose."

"Yes. Sooner than we all expected I fear."

"How did he fail?"

"I'm afraid I neglected to mention another important fact; this was also Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts."

"Indeed? So now it begins."

"Yes."

"I take it the prophecy has not yet been fulfilled?"

"No. Voldemort was delayed, not defeated. He cannot yet assume physical form; he must inhabit another creature's body. But his hatred, his thirst for vengeance is just as strong. I think it is all that is keeping him alive."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"At the moment, nothing; go about your business as you normally would, do nothing to draw attention to yourself. But be vigilant. Inform the Council, they will know how best to prepare you. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Also, if you can, see if you can reunite Team Tepes. Judah van Helsing, Patrick O'Reilley, Ivan Turgenev, Richard Belmont, Fred Abberline, and the rest."

"Even Luther?"

"Wolfgang, if Voldemort is able to regain the full extant of his powers, Luther's mania is going to be the least of our worries."

"True enough."

"I will send all of you a letter giving the full details of what has happened, as well as a possible meeting place. Be on the watch, Wolfgang," Dumbledore implored as he rose from his seat.

"Must you leave so soon, Headmaster?"

"We will meet again soon, I promise you."

"Good luck then, Headmaster."

"Luck? Oh yes, we shall need that; and much more."

**Mid-June, 1992**

Judah van Helsing was in deep contemplation. He had to be. Otherwise he wouldn't be out skeet-shooting so close to dinner time; but it was either that or pace around the study, and since his wife had been complaining about the carpet wearing thin from his pacing, it had to be this. It was quite an interesting sight; the more distracted he was, the more accurate he was.

"Do you want to talk about it Judah, or are you just going to mope about it all evening?" Richard Belmont asked lazily from where he was reclining on the lawn bench. He sipped from his glass of Calvert.

Judah took one last shot and sat down on his lawn bench. Meanwhile Smiley the house-elf scuttled off to find and fix the pigeons in case his master wasn't finished for the evening.

Judah reached over and retrieved his letter from Dumbledore off the ground. He still couldn't believe it; James and Lily's son was at Hogwarts, and Voldemort was back. "And my little girl about to start school as well."

"Listen old chap, compared to what we had to go through, Rachel's going to have a breeze. But, that's not really what's bothering you is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Well, what is bothering you?"

"I don't know."

"Oh Lord, if anyone had told me I'd live to see the day the House of Van Helsing was changing its colors, I'd have called them crazy. What you have to be so damn scared of is absolutely beyond me. I don't hear your wife begging you every month to quit the field and get a desk job."

"No Richard, but you're also not as cold-blooded as I am. I don't enjoy killing for its own sake."

"Don't give me that crap. You love field work; you relish every chance you get to use that Winchester just as I do my whips. It's not death you're scared of and there's little chance of you falling victim to the vampiric bite, so what are you scared of really, Judah van Helsing?"

"So many old wounds to open up, so many scars to heal; Luther, Wolfgang, Fred, Patrick…And besides, good against vampires is one thing; good against Voldemort? Well, that's something else."

"No one ever said it was going to be easy Judah."

"No they didn't, did they? I just keep remembering that look on Patrick's face…" he drifted off.

"Judah, we're hunters, defenders. These are the moments we relish, the moments we were born for; no matter how abhorrent it may seem, you love your job."

"Yes, I love it. God help me, I do love it so."

"O'RIELLY, TURGENEV, MY OFFICE, NOW!!!!"

As the howler self-combusted, Patrick O'Reilly turned and gave a knowing look to his partner, Ivan Turgenev.

"Ready to go get our asses chewed off, lad?" he asked as he chugged down his Jameson's.

"Patrick, my ass is so numb I doubt I could feel anything he could actually do." Despite his many years of living and working in England, Ivan had yet to soften his thick Russian accent.

They drew a large number of stares as they walked down the hallway to the elevator. Of course, they were quite a sight; Patrick had a black eye, a cut going from his temple to his chin, a torn shirt-shoulder caked in blood, and his hair and shoulders were covered in dried ceiling plaster. Ivan had a gash across his chest, a blood-soaked shirt, mud-caked pants, and dried blood covering the corner of his mouth and his upper lip.

As they got out of the elevator they turned left towards the captains offices until they reached Captain Vos' office. Patrick raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open of its own account. The two men entered nervously, only to have the door slam behind them.

"Fifteen cars, twenty motorcycles, five bikes and two double-deckers! Do you have any idea how long it's going to take the Ministry to cover this one up?! You've got Arthur Weasley working over-time from now till Judgment Day! I often wonder how your mornings go. Do you just call each other up and figure out the best way to screw up my life indefinitely, like causing that chaos and getting it on the Muggle news?! Well??!!" Captain Vos was short and balding, but he was one of the strongest guys in the IHA, not someone to tangle with lightly. However, his high voice and tendency to overreact had caused him to bear the brunt of more than a few jokes around the locker-room. No such jokes came into Patrick's mind however, because Vos' red face, bulging eyes and protruding veins gave only a hint of the raging volcano inside. Better to just suffer the abuse in silence.

"Alright, let's try to look at the bright side of this fiasco. Thankfully, no one was killed, although I don't know how you managed to pull that off, especially with your driving skills O'Reilly. And you did catch the Soothsayer and his gang alive, but again O'Reilly, I'm sure your trigger-happy finger made no contribution to that. Well, anyway, now we can finally close the books on this case and turn our full attention to the Witchdoctor."

"I thought Henley took care of that, sir," Ivan asked.

"So did I, but it was only a red herring, a ruse to put us off the scent. Did a damn fine job of it too, that's why I'm putting you two on it."

"You—you mean we're not on suspension, sir?" Patrick could hardly believe his ears.

"No, you're not on probation. The Ministry can't tell us what to do, and we need you on this case. Why? Because Turgenev is the best investigator we've got, and you O'Reilly aren't afraid to take the risks these jobs require."

"But what about the mess we just caused?"

"Don't get me wrong O'Reilly. Your results are unquestionable, but your methods, well they leave much to be desired. Besides, let's just say I'm used to your antics by now."

Patrick and Ivan turned to give each other a confused look. The last time they had caused this much trouble, Vos had threatened to suspend them the next time it happened. Vos saw them.

"Listen you two, I understand that these Voodoo devotees don't always play by the rules, and sometimes the chaos is an unfortunate side effect that comes with hunting them down. I'm not upset at you; it's just that the Ministry's so far up my ass right now that if they spit it's coming out of my mouth. You know Fudge has been promising to get tough on IHA's autonomy again. I just don't want the two of you to give him an opportunity to actually do it. Savvy? Good, now get started."

As they walked out of the office Patrick let out a sigh of relief. "I thought for sure we were toast that time."

"So did I. Fortunately for us Captain Vos' dislike of Ministry interference in the IHA is stronger than his hatred for us. Patrick, on this mission please, I beg you, take it easy. I have only seven more years until I get my pension, after which I can get a desk job and assure Helga that she won't have a dead hero for a husband. Patrick? Are you even listening to me?"

He wasn't; his attention was caught by two letters left on their desks with a Hogwart's seal on them. Ivan saw them and stopped talking. Slowly they both opened them and read them. Patrick put his down and looked at Ivan.

"I think the Witch Doctor's going to be the least of our worries for a while, don't you?"

Ivan didn't respond. Seven more years, he reminded himself, seven more years.

**Early July, 1992**

Wolfgang pulled at the doorbell, which let loose a bell with a mournful sounding toll. A skeleton opened the door and bowed in acquiescence when it saw the baron. Silently he beckoned him in down the dank, musty corridor. Wolfgang looked around. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs. As they passed through the Great Hall a blank spot on the wall marked where the family portrait had once been.

They ascended a flight of stairs and came to a pair of doors that Wolfgang knew lead to the study. The skeleton went in while he waited outside. Shortly it returned and beckoned him in, then removed his hat and cloak. While the skeleton went to hang them up and get some refreshments Wolfgang approached a high-backed chair in front of an empty fire place. A blank spot over the mantle revealed where a wedding portrait had once been.

"Wolfgang, so good of you to come. It's been some time, hasn't it?" A voice came from the chair; it was smooth and clear, almost seductive.

"Thank you for having me Luther. It has been a long time, far too long. I noticed your taste for the exotic remains as consistent as ever."

"Ah yes, Bones. He's quiet, discreet, and never tires out. Yes, he's an excellent valet." As he spoke he stood up, towering over the very tall Wolfgang. "But your not here to discuss my valets, are you Wolfgang?"

"No, I haven't." There was no use in beating around the bush with Luther von Lichtenstein. "Have you received Dumbledore's letter?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I relish the idea of resuming the quest. I still have some old scores to settle, as you well know."

"Luther, I'm not sure you understand. We can't allow our personal feelings to get tangled up in this."

"I'm surprised at your naiveté Wolfgang. I'm more surprised to see you so squeamish; that is not your reputation."

"Not squeamish, just morally concerned."

"You're starting to sound like an Innocent," Luther replied condescendingly as he signaled two glasses, which immediately filled themselves up with brandy.

"Luther, listen, I would like to see the Lestranges and the Malfoys hanged from the nearest tree as much as you would, but not at the cost of condescending to the Death Eater's level," Wolfgang retorted as a brandy floated towards him.

"When are you ever going to drop those outdated views on 'right' and 'wrong', Wolfgang? You of all people know where these rats came from, and yet you're the first one to rush to their defense. It sickens me."

"I didn't come here to play "Who's the Better Killer?", alright? Will you help us when the time comes?"

Luther sipped his brandy nonchalantly. "Without hesitation."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters back at the IHA, so I'll bid you good evening." Wolfgang hurried to the door where the skeleton was waiting with his hat and coat.

After he left Luther opened the secret passageway behind the bookcase, and brought a package to the desk in his study. Unwrapping it, he was glad to see that it was still in good condition. He lifted a longbow of the table and caressed it lovingly. This bow had made him one of the most feared hunters in Europe; now it would resurrect him from the abyss.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," he mused, bitter tears falling down his face, a leering smile providing an odd juxtaposition. "Now my family can rest in peace…and I can finally be with them again."


	2. Inklings

Chapter 1: Inklings

**Late May, 1995 Berlin, Germany**

"Wolfgang, Wolfgang! It's happened, the Apocalypse has come!"

"What the devil are you talking about man?"

"This!" Exasperated, Judah van Helsing shoved a small hand-written note into Baron von Hess' hands. Giving Judah a look, Wolfgang quickly read the note, then re-read it. Damn...

"As I said, the Apocalypse has come."

The telephone rang. As Wolfgang picked it up, Judah ran to close to door.

"Baron von Hess, IHA, German Office."

"Hello, Wolfgang." It was Dumbledore.

"Headmaster!"

"Has Judah delivered my note?"

"We were discussing just when you called, Headmaster."

"Excellent. Now listen, there is much to tell you. Could you possibly make it here by tea-time?"

"Here, as in Hogwarts?"

"Correct."

"Yes, I should be able to."

"Splendid. I'll see you then, Wolfgang." With that he hung up.

Wolfgang placed the phone back on the hook and leaned back in his chair. Again he looked at the note. _Voldemort is back. Get ready. Albus Dumbledore._

"Well?"

Wolfgang looked up, having completely forgotten about Judah, who stood leaning against the desk on his hands, a peering look in his eye. Wolfgang smiled slightly; he remembered that look well.

"Can you join us for tea at Hogwarts?"

"Today?"

"Yes."

"I think so."

"Good. Until then, I'd suggest you return home and polish that Winchester of yours."

"Great; just when I thought it was over..."

"Judah, you're starting to sound like an innocent."

"Oh God, Wolfgang, first Richard now you; can't everyone just get off my back?"

"Because Judah, you are on the brink of bringing shame to your family and the IHA by you insistent refusal to fulfill your duties. A fine picture we'd present to the rest of the wizarding world if the heir of the Van Helsing name shirked on his duties."

"You all seem to be forgetting a very important point, Wolfgang; I never asked to be born into this family, or this life. It was thrust upon me, thrown at me like some hex."

"You never had any trouble facing down these so-called "hexes" before, Judah."

"No, but that was before I had to experience the murder and torture of some of my closest friends, before I had a family to worry about, before Patrick lost everything dear in his life, before..."

"Will you listen to yourself? You, a Van Helsing, whining and complaining like an ordinary wizard. Your list of grievances could easily be recited by at least three-quarters of the hunters in the IHA, myself included. I've yet to hear them complain, though. We've all lost friends in this struggle, that's part of the job. Your family? You're lucky to still have a family to worry about. Also, remember that its not Helena whose asking you to quit; she knows the risks involved in being a hunter's wife, but unlike you she seems to be willing to take them. Grow up Judah, remember the man you used to be; the young hunter with those piercing grey eyes and a fiery spirit, who enjoyed nothing better than wreaking havoc on the forces of evil. That's the hunter I took under my wing, the hunter I taught the greatest magic any wizard could practice. Not this coward standing in front of me."

"You've got no right to talk to me like that Wolfgang," Judah retorted, taking a deep breath as he tried to swallow the insults hurled at him. "I've given forty-four years of my life to this widows' society, and for what? Family honor? That's the same kind of crap that the Pure Bloods have been gushing forth since Salazar Slytherin. Fighting evil? A worthy enough cause, I grant you, but some of my colleagues are so maniacal in their quest that even the vampires consider them monsters. Thirteen years ago, we thought we had won. But no, he's back now; what have we gained? A thirteen year rest. I'm tired Wolfgang. Sick and tired of this killing spree."

"Are you still going to join us?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I? Even if you're not twisting my arm, Helena's going to be making me go, isn't she?" Judah turned and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Wolfgang sat at his desk, starring into space. Burned out. It was a normal occurrence among hunters; one could only stand so many years of working among death and destruction, seeing one's closest friends killed off, or worse, changed into vampires. Normally it was the older hunters who felt it most strongly. That was before Voldemort. Afterwards, many of the younger hunters were starting to feel it as well. One young man he knew, a Hungarian, had lost his wife to Voldemort's Death Eaters. They had only been married for two months, and she was three weeks pregnant. They had taken their time killing her, and the crime scene had sickened many of the most hardened hunters. The young man, only 23 at the time, had fallen into depression, and had only now begun to recover. Of course this had happened to many other hunters; it was, as he said, a risk that came with the job, and it took a special woman to accept that risk. As a rule, many hunter's wives often matched, even exceeded, their husbands in courage. But it had never happened on such a large scale though, that was the problem. Never had so many given so much.

Once the debris had cleared, though, the adulations poured on the hunters by the press had quickly evaporated. Ordinary, run-of the mill wizards had always been suspicious of the hunters, with their supernatural powers, archaic forms of magic, and the arrogance they often displayed towards other wizards, even Aurors. So it was a thankless job as well, and many of the younger hunters were falling into a cynical frame of mind too soon. After all, they reasoned, why bother to protect a group of people who hate you for who you are, no matter what you do for them? Might they not deserve what they get? Yet they still fought and died for the rest of that thankless, thoughtless world, as they had every day for two-thousand years. As much as many of them had come to hate their calling, they still thrived on the hunt. For many, it was all that kept them alive.

**Late May, 1995 Hogwarts**

As Wolfgang stepped through the fireplace into Dumbledore's office, the rest of the assembled crowd looked up from their tea.

"Eh, Wolfgang, a bit late, aren't you?" It was Fred Abberline, Chief Inspector for the London house of the IHA.

"A hunter's never late, Fred; everyone else just happens to be early."

A quick laugh passed through the group as he sat down in the remaining chair, and the teapot floated over to fill his cup.

"Where's Dumbledore?" he asked.

"No one's sure. There was a note instructing us to sit and eat until he came in."

Wolfgang looked around. Judah was there, sitting in the corner, looking morose and ignoring his teacup. Richard was discussing the latest Ministry complaints against IHA policy with Fred, while Ivan and Patrick were relating their latest outrages to Moses Ajande, the young Ethiopian who had recently been made attaché to the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense in the U. S. Kiratune Endo-Shan, Superior of the Monastic Community in Nagasaki, sat off to the side, quietly sipping his tea and observing the others.

"Where's Luther?"

"Funny, we were about to ask you about that, old chap. I suspect he'll arrive when he feels like it. You know how he is."

"Ja."

"Is Valerius coming?"

"I sent a message to the Gypsy camp, but I can't guarantee anything. He's not bound by the same rules we are, you know?"

"Aye, it's going to be the same way with Blade. I sent the message myself, but all I received was a note saying merely 'I'll consider it.'"

"And Riddick?"

"Come now, old chap, do you really need to ask?"

"No. Oh, where's Barty?"

"Barty Crouch?"

"Yes."

"Well, haven't you heard the news old boy?"

"What news?"

"Oh, well...Wolfgang, Barty's dead."

Wolfgang slowly sank into his seat, his mind numb with shock and grief.

"Wolfgang?" The voice was Kiratune's.

He looked up, then folded his arms and leaned back, swearing under his breath. "How did he die?"

"It was his son, I regret to say," Dumbledore said as he walked into the room, startling everyone except Kiratune.

"His son? That traitor's been dead for thirteen years, Headmaster."

"Yes, so it seemed to all of us Wolfgang. Come, all of you, I have much to tell you."

**Later That Evening**

Wolfgang sipped pensively on his beer as he looked out upon the Quidditch field. There was so much to consider. Barty's traitor son was alive; the bastard who had helped kill his family had been alive, sheltered by his own father no less. He simply couldn't believe it. His chance for revenge had been there all along, and as usual that idiot Fudge had screwed it up again. The Dementor's Kiss. Shit. No less than he deserved, no doubt, but Wolfgang had wanted to hurt that turncoat, to make him plead for his death, the same way Guinevere had been forced to plead for hers. He wanted him to suffer at his hands, not that bungler's.

"Now you're starting to sound like me, Wolfgang." He turned around and saw Luther approaching.

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

"You forget, I was once renowned for my mastery of the archaic arts, especially mind reading. It used to scare the hell out of vampires."

"And quite a few wizards too, if I remember correctly."

"Aye. Too bad about Barty. I can still remember the first time I met you two, during the House of the Dead crisis. What year was that?"

"'68."

"That's right, just before Voldemort came out in the open, when he still had a mask of legitimacy. I remember."

"So do I. You taught us everything we needed to know...and then some."

"Nothing really, just some survival skills, some stuff they didn't teach you in the classroom."

"Still, it saved our rears on many an occasion."

"Well, I know a good deal when I see it. I saw greatness in you, the both of you. You as one of Europe's most feared hunters, Barty as the scourge of the dark forces in England. Damn shame the rest of them didn't feel the same way. We'd have a man to face this crisis, not this bungler who's been masquerading about for thirteen years."

"Aye. Well, we've still got Dumbledore."

Luther laughed haughtily. "Your naiveté never ceases to amaze me, Wolfgang. Dumbledore? Why, if you hadn't listened to him back then, Gwen and the children would still be alive. So would my Freyja."

"I don't like your lack of faith, Luther."

"Oh, quite the contrary; it's not lack of faith I suffer from, it's an overabundance of it. I'll see myself through the crisis this time, and I'll not be bowed down by the insipient demands of an egotistic old man."

"Damn it, Luther, that's not the kind of talk we need to hear right now."

"Really? Allow me to disagree, my dear pupil. It will only be by realizing our own strengths rather then relying on those of others that we will be able to defeat that half-dead son of a bitch."

"And what makes you so bold as to assume that you won't fail, my old master?"

"Simply, I have nothing to lose." He took a long drag on his cigarette. " Not even my life."

Wolfgang turned away, drained his beer stein and excused himself, leaving Luther alone at the Quidditch field. As he hurried down the stairs he brushed a tear away from his eye. He had forgotten, after thirteen years, just how much of a monster his old mentor had become. Voldemort, it was all Voldemort's doing; he had killed Wolfgang's family, Luther's family, destroyed Barty's family, turned his son against him, stolen Patrick's chance at a family, turned Judah into a coward, murdered Lily and James, on and on and on. God, he prayed, forgive us for what we must do. You made us like this; all we can do is follow the path.

As he walked back through the fireplace, Wolfgang hoped that young Harry would be up to the task. It all rested on him now. Everything.


	3. The Game is Afoot

Chapter 2: "The Game is Afoot"

**Late August, 1995 London, England**

"Sir Richard, we've got some serious dementor activity in Surrey!" Shouted the young man at the surveillance radar.

"Surrey? That's impossible! The dementors are locked up at Azkaban, and the only one who can authorize their removal is the Minister, and I have not seen any such orders recently."

"Don't take my word for it, sir, take a look yourself," the man said, getting up and handing the headphones to Richard Belmont. As he sat down at the station, a look of shock and horror spread onto his face, and he quickly gave the headset back to the young hunter. "Call Dumbledore," was all he said.

"Dumbledore? Shouldn't we rather call the Ministry sir?"

"No, the Ministry can't help us now; their not the ones who released that dementor."

The young hunter looked up at his boss, horrified. "Then who did sir?"

"I wish to God I didn't know the answer, son."

**That Same Evening, Little Whining, Surrey**

BAM! With his sawed-off shotgun, Patrick couldn't have missed the vampire if he wanted to. However, since the pellets weren't made of silver, the worst they could do was slow him down and annoy him. But it was all Patrick had; after scuffling with him for a while, the vampire had thrown his silver buckshot to the other side of the room, and was doing his damn best to make sure he didn't get there as well.

Laughing at the shot, the vampire shot forward, pushing Patrick through the wall into the other room. Then he flew on top of him before he had a chance to get up, catching him in an iron grip. Patrick forced himself to look up, being greeted by an evil smile and a cruel chuckle. Without a word, the vampire slowly began lowering his head towards Patrick's neck, opening his mouth slightly.

Patrick wasn't finished, however. Shaking his head slightly, he felt the tablet come lose. Using his tongue to maneuver it to his teeth, he bit down hard, and let loose a strong vapor of garlic gas. The vampire immediately let go, cursing out loud and choking on the gas. Aiming a hard kick at his crouch, Patrick then flew up and into the other room, recovering his silver buckshot. As he stood loading, the vampire turned, let out a hiss, and launched himself at Patrick, aiming for his neck.

All he got was a face full of buckshot.

Once he was certain the vampire was dead, Patrick dropped the gun, leaned against the wall, and slid down to the floor. He pulled a vial of Jameson's out of his coat and took a sip to steady his nerves. Too close. He had come far to close to being bitten that time. He thought of the vampire's breath on his face sent shivers down his spine, and took another sip of the whiskey.

"Midgard to Hibernia, Midgard to Hibernia, come in please." Baron von Hess' voice crackled in over the walkie-talkie on Patrick's coat lapel.

"Hibernia here. He's dead Wolfgang," he answered tiredly.

"Good job, Patrick, we were starting to get worried. Were there any others?"

"Two others, but they've been dead for some time now."

"Excellent. You know how to get to the Order's headquarters, correct?"

"Aye."

"Very well, then, we'll see you there Patrick. Over and out."

Patrick let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the wall. Wherever a dementor was, any hunter worth his salt could tell you that a vampire would be close behind. Because dementors rendered human beings powerless, especially if they administered the Kiss, it was easier for the vampire to get his fill of blood. No resistance, no need to worry about repercussions, just results. A feast for them, to be sure.

Getting up, Patrick attached a portkey to the vampire's coat, which was soon whisked off to the office in London, where it would be identified. Then he picked up his shotgun, reloaded it, and set off for 12 Grimmauld Place, London, wondering what idiot in the Ministry had let loose a dementor on young Harry Potter.

**12 Grimmauld Place, London**

The knocking at the door startled Molly Weasley, but she quickly recovered and hurried to answer the door. Just be glad they didn't ring the doorbell, she told herself as she pulled the door open.

"Hello Molly," Wolfgang said as the door opened.

Mrs. Weasley's face quickly turned into a smile upon seeing her old school-mate. "Why, Wolfgang, how good to see you. Dumbledore said you'd be coming around, but I didn't expect to see you so soon. Come in, come in," she said as she pulled open the door wider to allow in Wolfgang and the six other hunters. "So what brings you to London?"

"Rogue dementor," he replied nonchalantly.

"Dementor? Where?"

"Surrey."

"Surrey? My God, it was after Harry wasn't it?"

Wolfgang nodded. Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Is he alright?"

"Alright? Mein frau, by the time we arrived, he had those dementors gliding at full speed away from him. That young man produces one damn good patronus," one of the hunters said in a light German accent, his fellows nodding in agreement.

"Well, thank Heaven for that. You don't need to tell me anything else, I'm sure I'll get the rest of the story from Arthur. The Ministry is going to have a fit about this, that's for sure. They've had it in for him ever since You-Know-Who came back last summer. Can I get anything for you and your men?"

"Just some beer; the boys have had a rough night. You know how dementors attract vampires like honey attracts flies? Well, soon after that patronus, they were out in full force tonight. Nothing we couldn't handle. Molly, why don't you say his name?"

"Whose?" she asked as she poured out seven glasses of beer.

"Voldemort's."

Mrs. Weasley and the other hunters froze in shock, one of them almost dropping his glass. Wolfgang looked around, rolling his eyes at their reactions. "Oh, forget it," he said, taking a sip of his drink. He turned to his men. "When you're finished, you can take the fireplace back to London, and report to Sir Richard Belmont. You can get eat and sleep there tonight, and head to Berlin tomorrow morning. Alright?"

"Jawohl, mien Herr," they answered in unison.

"Very well, I'll bid you all good evening. Molly, is there a spare room? I'd like to catch a few winks before that meeting with Dumbledore."

"Up the stairs and to the left, second door on the left. It's next to Fred and George's room, I'm afraid, but it's the only one left."

"I think I'll be able to tolerate the twins' antics well enough. Thank you Molly." He placed his half-full glass down and trudged up the stairs.

Just as the last of the hunters had left through the fire place, the door bell rang and Mrs. Black's portrait started screeching again. "How many times do I have to tell them not to ring the doorbells?" She said as she rushed to the door, opening it up on a very sheepish Patrick O'Reilly.

"Patrick, I might have known."

"Sorry, Molly, but I forgot about the old hag. Don't worry I'll take care of it," he reassured her as he hurried off to the parlor.

Wolfgang came running down the stairs; obviously he had been awaken by the screaming portrait, and had some choice words to say to whoever had rung the doorbell.

Both he and Mrs. Weasley entered the parlor to see a very frustrated Patrick yanking at the curtain. Exasperated, he let go and marched to the center of the room, his face beet red.

"SCUM, MUCK, BASTARD!!! WHO ALLOWED THIS IRISH DRUNK INTO MY ANCESTOR'S HOME??!! NEVER HAS THE...

"Oh will you shut up?" Patrick yelled out, pulling out his shotgun and aiming at the portrait. Wolfgang rushed forward to stop him, calling out. "No, wait..."

BAM! Too late, the pellets hit the portrait and bounced off, ricocheting across the room, and forcing all three of them to take cover. Three minutes later, the bullets had their fun and fell to the ground, and they got up.

"Will you forget it, I already tried that, she's got it charmed!" Wolfgang yelled out, angry at having his rest disturbed.

"Put that thing away before you get us all killed!" Mrs. Weasley ordered as she managed to close the curtains, finally silencing the portrait.

Patrick picked up his gun where it had fallen on the carpet and placed it back in its holster. "Sorry about that," he said quietly. "I just haven't had to put up with that kind of crap for quite some time now."

"What, the insults? Yes, its interesting how out of place a hunter can feel whenever he reenters the ordinary wizarding world, isn't it? One is almost tempted to forget the whole 'pure-blood' vs. 'muggle-blood' argument, isn't he?"

"Aye." They both turned their heads at the sound of feet clopping down the stairs, and soon Sirius Black entered the room, a worried look on his face.

"I thought I heard my mother's portrait again. Is everything alright?"

"Yea, Molly took care of it. I actually tried to shoot the old bitch."

"Ah, if only, if only," Sirius sighed wistfully. "Well, you two had better get down to the basement, your meeting should be starting in a few minutes."

"Splendid. Molly, if you'll excuse us," Wolfgang said with a bow, and they both went downstairs.

Everyone else had already gathered, so Wolfgang and Patrick hurriedly took their seats near the end of the table as Dumbledore put down a manuscript he had been studying. Suddenly the door behind them opened and closed quickly and another figure hurried to Dumbledore's side. It was Severus Snape.

"Eh, Snivelly, haven't you heard? This meeting is for **_enemies_** of Voldemort, not greasy-haired turncoats," Patrick called out across the room. Richard laughed, Judah smiled, but the rest of the room was cloaked in an awkward silence. Snape, either not hearing Patrick or simply ignoring him, continued to whisper into Dumbledore's ear. Patrick, however, was not to be dissuaded so easily. He murmured a spell under his breath. "_Patrificus totalis_."

Suddenly Snape went stiff as a ramrod, his arms snapping to his sides, his legs snapped together, and he fell flat on his face, completely paralyzed. Dumbledore looked over at Patrick, who was struggling to stifle a laugh. Dumbledore threw him a warning look.

"Patrick that will be quite enough. Release him."

"Oh, I don't think so Dumbledore. No, I think he looks better this way. Wallowing in the dirt with the other vermin." The look on Patrick's face was an odd mix of sadistic pleasure mixed with seething fury.

"Patrick, enough." Dumbledore used that firm tone of voice that told everyone at the table that the discussion was over.

"Oh, alright," Patrick sighed as he let Snape out of the spell. "But I don't see why he has to be with us. Like I said, this is supposed to be a meeting of Voldemort's enemies."

"Patrick, you know well enough that Severus has long sense renounced any allegiance he once had to Voldemort. He is as much Voldemort's enemy as you are."

"Somehow, I seem to remember you saying the same thing about Peter Pettigrew," Patrick replied with a dark look in his eyes. "We all saw how ineffable your wisdom was then, didn't we Dumbledore?"

A sharp intake of breath could be heard from each of the hunters except Luther. A cloud fell across Dumbledore's eyes, but now that Patrick was on a roll, there was no stopping the impetuous Irishman.

"We also saw how full-proof your advice was after Freyja and Guinevere were killed, didn't we? How about when Cuchullain died, or when Cathy was taken from me forever? Oh yes, we all had the infallible reassurances of Albus Dumbledore behind them, didn't we?"

"Patrick, that's enough," Ivan said to his friend.

"Keep out of this Ivan. Not only did you keep secrets from us, but you intend to keep Harry completely in the dark concerning this matter, eh? Such a grandiose scheme, keeping this one boy, the one chance we have to kick this bastard in the ass, and you're pulling the wool over his eyes!"

"Patrick, I said that's enough. Listen to yourself. You're drunk." He wasn't really, but Ivan didn't want his old school-mate to fall under Dumbledore's hammer at this moment. "You've had a busy night. Why don't you catch some shut-eye, and I will tell you what our plan of action is, eh?"

"Aye, that's a good idea. Get out of this snake's nest before I hurl," Patrick muttered as he walked out the door back upstairs.

Wolfgang looked over at Dumbledore and was surprised to see the absence of any anger on his face. Rather, he looked concerned and upset.

"Headmaster?" Snape shook him at the shoulder gently, as if he had fallen asleep.

"I'm fine, Severus. Pay no heed to Patrick. Ivan's right, he has had a busy day, and perhaps a little too much to drink. I only hope he's wrong."

"He always has been before, headmaster," Snape responded.

"Always? Well, no, not always. I just hope that this isn't one of the times he was right. Oh well, shall we discuss the plans Ivan and Fred have drawn up?" As visionaries, it was Ivan and Fred's job to prepare possible courses of action for the IHA to take, after they had considered the innumerable possibilities. As such, this made them _de facto_ leaders in a crisis, but the only down side to being in that particular creed; as Ivan said, "You can never stop _thinking_. All of the possibilities are before you all of the time. The trick is to choose the most probable, and pray to God that you're right. After that, the rest is easy."

Easy? Well, granted, fighting vampires was easier than predicting their next moves. But they were up against more than just vampires. _Once again, we're off the edge of the map,_ thought Wolfgang. _Here there be monsters. And worse..._

**December, 1995 London, England**

Sean MacEoin sat comfortably in the Leaky Cauldron, sheltered from the cold and snow outside, munching on a sandwich and sipping his Guinness. The other patrons gave him little notice aside from the occasional polite nod or wave. Sean grinned, wondering what their reaction would have been if they knew what he really was.

The door opened, letting a cold breeze into the room, and another customer entered. He looked around, saw Sean, waved, and headed over to take a seat. As he approached, Sean stood up and the two men clasped hands before embracing each other.

"Sean MacEoin, damn, but it's good to see you again."

"Happy to see you to Jake, but please try to watch your language in a public house, eh? You Americans can act so embarrassing at times."

Jake Featherstone took a seat and gave his order to the waiter; meanwhile, a old witch in an emerald-green robe and hair in a tight bun gave a disapproving look threw a disapproving look towards the two men. Jake waved back. She turned away. Jake laughed, a short, sharp, dog-like laugh; he was famous among his friends for his rather liberal use of what they called "colorful metaphors."

"So, what's new?"

"You received Von Hess' letter, I assume?"

"Yea. So, old tall, dark and gruesome is back."

"I love how calmly you're able to take all this, Jake."

"Hey, it means I get an opportunity to fight, so how can I be gloomy?"

"Are all you Get of Fenris so equally indifferent concerning death?"

"First you tell me if all you Fianna so equally enjoy singing about death," Jake ordered.

Sean smiled. "Touche," he replied, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

"So, what do I have to do exactly, aside from kick some vampire butt?"

"Dumbledore wants you to contact as many of the Get of Fenris as possible. As the warrior's tribe, we're going to need you when the going gets rough."

"Well, not that I don't mind Sean, but why me? Couldn't Dumbledore himself do it?"

"He could, were it not for two obstacles. One, he knows that the tribe is going to be more willing to listen to one of its own rather than a mere human, especially one who sheltered a renegade lycan."

"And the other?"

"The Ministry's been giving Dumbledore a pretty rough time since the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. Fudge is paranoid; he's convinced Dumbledore's trying to use this as a façade to help him take over as Minister of Magic."

"You're kidding?"

"I wish. Anyway, they've hired one of their own out at Hogwarts in a new post called 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.' Care to guess who it is?"

"Amanda Bones?" Jake asked, picking a name out of thin air.

"No, worse. Dolores Umbridge."

"Umbridge? Not the one who tried to make werewolf employment several years ago? That one? Umbridge? Good God."

"My sentiments exactly."

"You Brits; you know, if you had elected Barty Crouch Minister of Magic, you wouldn't have to deal with this crap."

"Not that I don't agree with you, Jake, but remember, I'm Irish. I had nothing to do with Fudge's appointment."

"Right. So, what exactly is Umbridge's job at Hogwarts?"

"Simply to keep an eye on Dumbledore, make sure he doesn't step out of line, enforce general tyranny, and keep Harry Potter from getting the truth out."

"Oh, God! You mean the _Prophet_ is still using that old trick?"

"Aye. Every day, some new article laughing at the whole idea that Mr. V really has come back."

"Well, this may work to our advantage. If the tribal elders know that Umbridge has a hand in all this, it'll be much easier to convince them to support Dumbledore."

"That's all we need to hear Jake. Just do your best."

"Thanks, I will," Jake replied as he started in on his steak. It was very, very rare.

Later, as the two men left the pub, two dogs that had been waiting outside ran up to walk alongside them. At least they looked like dogs; in reality, they were wolves. And they weren't just ordinary wolves, just as the two men weren't ordinary men. Although no ordinary wizard could tell, a hunter needed to take only one look to see why they weren't so ordinary.

A car pulled up, and the two men and the wolves got in. The man sitting next to the driver turned around and greeted them.

"Well, what are two ordinary werewolves doing in the middle of downtown London?" It was Richard Belmont.

"We could ask you the same thing Rick," Jake replied as they shook hands.

"Rick. You Americans, why you have to shorten everything to one syllable is beyond me."

"National heritage. We had to do something to make us stand out from you Brits."

"Well you're doing an excellent job, believe me."

"Thanks. Now, where are we going?"

"Hogwarts. Dumbledore wants to give you two the full details so you can present them to the tribal elders. In case they have any questions."

"Won't Umbridge be shadowing him?"

"Umbridge may be ruthless, but she's quite unimaginative. We'll be able to avoid her easily, unless she's discovered a way to identify two lycan by just looking at them."

One of the wolves snarled.

"Sorry, old chap. Four lycan."

The wolf snorted, then lay his head down on Jake's lap.

Sean took his harp out of his case and began idly strumming a tune. Jake looked out at the vast snowy wilderness of the Buckinghamshire countryside, wondering what was going to come next, hoping he would be able to get a piece of the action.


	4. The Unexpected Gift

Chapter 3: The Unexpected Gift

**July 1996, 4 Privet Drive**

As the clock struck midnight, a loud thud hit the window, waking up Harry Potter. He had been working on a late night assignment (Discuss the cause of the sudden rise of vampires in Eastern Europe during the late 19th century. Be sure to include the influence of Count Dracula and Muggle fascination with the Dark Arts), not because the Dursleys wouldn't allow him to work during the day, but because he had been unable to sleep and needed something to do. Apparently the essay had been just the cure for his insomnia.

He turned to look at the window, and was greeted by four sets of large, round eyes. Of course, Hedwig had gone out flying that evening and he had forgotten to leave the window open. He walked over and opened it, and four owls flew in. "Sorry Hedwig," Harry said as she gave him a scornful look. She dropped her bundle on the bed and flew to join the other three owls at the water canister.

Harry looked down at the packages on his bed, suddenly remembering his birthday. How could he have forgotten? After all, sixteen was an important milestone, at least in the Muggle world. Harry knew that, unlike Dudley, he probably wouldn't need a driver's license. What wizard did when he had brooms, Floo Powder and apparating to transport him anywhere in the world?

No present from Sirius this year he remembered. Sirius. He looked over at the mirror on his bedside table; the one Sirius had given him to contact him in case of emergency, the one he had been too foolish to remember. It was no use trying it again; he had been doing it all summer, always with the same result—nothing.

But who was that fourth package from? He could recognize Errol, the old Weasley family owl. A brown feathered owl had a Hogwarts mark tied around his talons, so that one must have come from Hagrid. The fourth owl stood out above the other three, though. A snowy owl like Hedwig, its feathers gleamed silver in the moonlight. While the other three were drinking thirstily from the canister, it was standing aloof, as if too noble to join the others in such a shameful display of animal passion. Then, suddenly, it turned to Harry, fixed a gaze on him, and (Harry could hardly believe it) bowed to him. Or at least it looked like a bow. Obviously it couldn't be Harry figured; just staying up too late, seeing things in the moonlight.

Turning his attention back to his gifts, Harry picked out Ron's and tore it open. It was a box with a large selection of sweets from Honeydukes, and a book. Harry picked it up and read the cover; "House of the Dead" by Wolfgang, Baron von Hess. Hmm, interesting title. Flipping through it, Harry was greeted with pictures of young men armed with firearms fighting off menacing hordes of advancing zombies and vampires. A note slipped out of the book, and Harry picked it up and read it; _Harry, the treats come courtesy of mum, but the book is my idea. The author is one of Europe's most famous Hunters, and apparently an old school mate of mum and dad. Enjoy. Ron. _

Hunter? Vampire hunter most likely; but why would Ron be sending a book like this to him? Who knows? If he was going to become an Auror, he would probably find it interesting reading. Besides, it seemed this Baron von Hess was an old friend of the Weasleys, so why make a big deal out of it?

He turned to Hermione's gift, and was unsurprised to find a book come out; _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker. Strange, why Hermione would be sending him a Muggle book. Harry opened it and almost dropped it when he found it filled with the moving pictures one only found in the wizarding world. He looked at the title page, and his jaw hit the ground. _Compiled by Bram Stoker and Abraham van Helsing, Hogwarts Class of 1864._ Hogwarts?! He read the note from Hermione; _Harry, I think you might find this more interesting than Muggles normally make it out to be. Let me know how you like it. Love, Hermione._

Hagrid's gift turned out to be a very handsome dagger with a hilt designed to resemble a knight raising his sword above his head. It had a long, slender blade and a black leather scabbard. Putting it aside gently, he turned his attention to the fourth package from the mysterious owl, which now sat regarding him from one of the bedposts. As he opened it, a thick letter and a silver crucifix connected to a string of beads fell out. An odd gift that; perhaps the letter would explain it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you've never met me before, but I was very good friends with your parents while I was at Hogwarts. Their mischievous exploits were legendary among the younger students, including my circle of friends. Your father and his gang were known as the Marauders; we were the Junior Marauders. Your mother, with her keen intellect and stunning beauty, became something of a mentor and an older sister to me, and helped keep my friends and me on the straight and narrow path your father so often led us off of. _

_What especially attracted me to your father was his skill with magic and his vehement hatred of the Dark Arts, traits which before I had only found in the aristocratic circles I had frown up in; I had not expected to find them in an unimbued commoner. Nonetheless a friendship grew up, not as close as that between your father and Sirius Black, to be sure, but a fairly close one. He became the older brother I had always wanted, but never had. _

_After graduation, it was no surprise to any of us that your father joined the Ministry as an Auror. Having fought against the dark arts most of my life, I can justly say that he was the best Auror I have ever seen; only Alistor Moody and Albus Dumbledore could have outdone him in skill. I too Harry, work in a similar field; I am a Hunter. Vampire hunter? Well, in a way. I don't focus specifically on vampires, but they do make up a great deal of the repertoire. I have certain skills, shall we say, that make me somewhat superior to your father; ability to detect the dark arts with one look, control over time, space and matter, etc., etc. Rather than causing me to feel disdain for your father, however, the fact that I posses these skills only increases my admiration for him. Out of all the Aurors in Europe, he was the one who was most like us without actually being one of us. I had often wished he would cross over and join us, but the Powers apparently had other plans for him. _

_I took a great interest in you from the beginning, Harry, because I knew that the son of such a powerful Auror had the potential to become one of us, a Hunter. Hence, the crucifix. I know that at the moment you may consider it a strange present; religion probably hasn't played that big a role in your life. Nonetheless, I think you may find it useful—and interesting. This was the rosary used by my great-grandfather, Dr. Abraham van Hesling, in his battle against Count Dracula. It has a power greater than any magic you'll learn at Hogwarts. It is the one power the forces of darkness cannot repel. Keep it close._

_Have a pleasant summer, Harry. You'll be coming to see us soon, if Dumbledore's plan works out alright, so I'll say good bye for now. _

_I remain your obdt._

_Judah van Helsing_

Harry finished the letter with a certain bit of unease. All these gifts, even Hagrid's dagger, seemed to be geared toward fighting the Dark Arts; they were reminders to the prophecy—that he would either be murdered, or commit murder.

Thinking of the prophecy reminded him of Sirius. In spite of himself, he wept.


	5. The Great Escape

Chapter 4: The Great Escape

Patrick and Ivan were having a bad day.

Patrick and Ivan had been having a bad year.

When Captain Vos had placed them in charge of the operation to capture the Witchdoctor, they were placed in charge of one of the IHA's most baffling cases. The Witchdoctor was a Voodoo warlock from Haiti, and had arrived in England the same time Voldemort had made his first appearance. At the time, he had merely been a rather outspoken wizard in the mode of Salazar Slytherin, calling for discrimination against Muggles and half-bloods, but without revealing his intentions on how to deal with them. The Witchdoctor had always been there, looming in the shadows, rarely making a public appearance, but always there.

After Voldemort had fallen, the Witchdoctor fled back to his homeland, but not for long. Shortly after, he returned to England with an army of minions, and proceeded to wreck havoc on the wizard and Muggle world alike. He ran a drug racket, selling dark potions, poisons, and opium, a drug which many wizards had found irresistible. Fort the past fourteen years, the Ministry had been trying to catch him; always, he had escaped just when it looked like he was cornered. Some years ago, the IHA had been invited to join the investigation, since voodoo was a dark art many Hunters were familiar with, especially Patrick, who had spent two years in Haiti, Cuba, New Orleans, and Savannah, studying Voodoo and Santeria, and the various defensive methods to use against them. The magic of voodoo was of a very primitive sort, the kind hermits (the rather reclusive, misanthropic scholars among the Hunters) referred to as Wild Magic. It followed no laws and was very hard to defend against. The IHA actually had a whole office dedicated to fighting this particular dark magic.

So for the past year, after it seemed the Witchdoctor had been captured (it was actually a zombie in his image), Ivan and Patrick had been attempting to pick up the trail were it had left off; unfortunately, the trail was cold. However, six months into their search, they had a breakthrough, when Mundungus Fletcher warned them of a giant opium shipment coming into St. Austell, which was sure to make it to the Witchdoctor's lair. His advice had proved correct, and after six months of planning, bribing, and undercover investigating, they were ready to make a move. The Witchdoctor was planning to make a huge trade, one ton of opium for six million galleons to one of his European contacts. Patrick and Ivan had gone in to investigate, but had been caught. The result was a furious car chase through Manchester, which resulted in two gun fights (where Patrick had emptied six magazines from his M-16) and 22 cars totaled, including Patrick's Mercedes. After Patrick's car had crashed, the Witchdoctor and his crew had gotten away scott free, leaving the two of them empty handed.

When they got back to the office, Ivan's nerves were a wreck, Patrick was pissed off, and Captain Vos was seething.

"Gentlemen, what is your job description? As I recall, the Hunter's Oath called for one to be 'courageous in the face of danger, prudent in the hour of decision, vigilant in the case of uncertainty, and secretive in the presence of enemies.' **What the Hell was courageous, prudent, vigilant, or secretive about your work today????!!!! Twenty-two cars totaled!!!! Once more, you've made the front page of the Muggle news!!!! How in God's name am I going to explain this to the Ministry????!!!! Well????!!!!"**

Patrick and Ivan remained silent. One wrong word would send the captain further off the deep end then he already was, something they knew they couldn't afford.

"All this nonsense, and you couldn't even catch the Witchdoctor? Our leading expert on voodoo here and you bungle up the investigation. If you two weren't our last hope, I'd have a good mind to put you on suspension indefinitely! Now then, I don't want any excuses, I don't want any crap about needing to rest; what I do want is for you to get your asses over to whoever your street contact is, and find that witchdoctor! And I don't want to see your faces in here again until you do capture him! Understood??!!"

As they arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, it was with an eager desire to kill Mundungus Fletcher.

Patrick knocked at the door. He didn't want to mess with Mrs. Black's portrait; he wanted to spend his energy on beating Mundungus to a pulp.

Mrs. Weasley opened the door and let them in.

"Hello, Molly. Have you seen Mundungus anywhere?" Ivan asked.

As he was saying this, Mundungus had just stepped through the fireplace with some new smuggled cauldrons. He caught sight of Ivan and Patrick and tried to sneak past them. But Patrick had a keen eye, and saw him before he took his first step.

"Hey Mundungus, where ya' going?" Patrick asked with mock friendliness. Mundungus tried to run, but Patrick launched a Petrifying Hex at him, and walked up to him, releasing him from the hex only when he had a tight grip on him.

"Guess what, Mundungus; you just made Number 1 on Uncle Patrick's Shit List."

"All we got was a wrecked up car and a chewed-off ass," Ivan added menacingly.

"Oh, really? Well, I'm awfully sorry about that, but that's the risk…"

"Last time we heard, he was heading for London. Where?" Patrick asked, tightening his grip on Mundungus' neck.

"Oh, I'm sorry old chap, but that news is going to be very expensive. Both of you are going to have to do something for me."

"Alright," Patrick said. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a poker. Then he walked over to Mundungus' collection of cauldrons, and looked over some of the more expensive ones. Lifting up the poker, he brought it crashing down into a solid silver one, shattering it to pieces. Mundungus shrieked in horror.

Patrick tossed the poker to Ivan, who proceeded to smash a solid gold cauldron encrusted with several gems. He tossed it back to Patrick, who turned his attention to a solid ruby cauldron. But before he could do anything, Mundungus tossed himself in front of the cauldron, screaming. "Stop!! Stop, stop, stop! He lives in a large pink house on Knockturn Alley."

"A pink house?"

"Yes! You can't miss it; it sticks out like a sore thumb. There's several shrunken heads in the front yard."

Patrick looked over at Ivan, who nodded. Patrick placed the poker back near the fireplace and turned to leave.

"Oh, Molly, if we're not back in several hours, send the Ministry out to drag out our remains," he said nonchalantly. Ivan sighed in exasperation, wishing his friend had more regard for the reality of death.

The pink house really did exist, and Patrick and Ivan drew their weapons and cautiously approached the door. Ivan knocked firmly, but got no answer. Patrick kicked open the door and they entered with guns at the ready.

"IHA, freeze!"

No response. The house appeared to be deserted. However, there was no doubt in either of their minds that this was the Witchdoctor's headquarters. A diabolically designed altar was set up in the center of the room, complete with inverted cross, and leftovers of a sacrificial offering.

Suddenly a shot rang out. The two hunters turned around, but another shot rang out from a room behind the fireplace. They hit the ground as a third shot rang out, followed by several bursts of machine gun fire. They ran to find more secure locations in a shower of bullets, Ivan to a bathroom across from the fireplace, Patrick right at the fireplace. On each side of the fireplace were two doors where the shots had come from, so they could only assume that the Witchdoctor and some of his cronies were barricaded in there.

"Who dares invade my house?" The voice spoke good English, despite the heavy Haitian accent.

"It's the devil. Who's asking?" Patrick called back defiantly.

"The devil is not welcome heeeeeeeeere!" Another voice called out, probably one of the Witchdoctor's gunmen. It was high-pitched with fear. Of course, when you were that superstitious, Patrick thought, it was easy to get scared.

"Patrick?! You have to call yourself the devil in **_this_** house?! Shit!"

Several other shots rang out, followed by profanities. "Get out of here, stinking mudblood!" "Beat it, before I fill you full of lead!" "Yea, fuck you!"

"Fuck me? Fuck you!" Patrick yelled back.

"I command you to leave!" The Witchdoctor yelled out.

"Command all you want pal, but we're not leaving until you surrender!"

The Witchdoctor laughed out defiantly. "Never!"

"Alright, but I'm warning you, a bullet in the head is really going to mess up your extensions!"

"Patrick, do you have to be so combative?"

Verbal insults were replaced with shots. Ivan fired his Cougar Magnums across the room, while Patrick fired his regulation .45s into the doorways on either side of the fireplace.

As Ivan reloaded, he had time to consider his position. "Wait one minute! Patrick, we've got several scared-as-hell voodoo, trapped in that tiny little room, armed with guns!!"

"Aye! So what?"

"Shit! Patrick, this is all your fault!!"

"Could we please talk about this later?" Patrick asked between shots.

"I want to talk about it right now!" Ivan yelled back, firing again; whether at the Haitians or his partner was hard to tell.

"Well wait a minute; I'll see if they'll give us a time out!"

Ivan fired his Cougars into the room, killing one of the cronies. Patrick meanwhile had shot open a can of spray paint, distracting the Haitians as they took cover from the green vortex.

"I don't understand you, Patrick! What is it? Do you just attract violence?!"

"Ivan, I'm in the middle of a gun fight here, I'd appreciate it if ya'd just shut the hell up!"

A spray from a machine-gun into the bathroom caused Ivan to duck behind the toilet as a shower of dried plaster came down on him. "Patrick, I'm sending you the cleaning bill!"

"Fine with me!" Patrick yelled out as he shot out a mirror near the door, and then used one of the pieces to look into the room; he fired several shots, killing two more of the cronies. Only the Witchdoctor was left. Looking to his partner, Patrick nodded, and they both charged into the room. Ivan grabbed the Witchdoctor by his jacket lapels and kneed him in the groin. As he went down on the ground, Patrick handcuffed him. "Now, the interesting thing is," he said, indicating Ivan, "he's the one of us who's not pissed off." As he took the Witchdoctor out the door Ivan checked his file cabinets, pulled out his wand, and transferred them into one single, compact file, then headed out to the car.

As they arrived back at the office, Witchdoctor and files in toll, Captain Vos was there to greet them.

"Splendid work, gentlemen, although I wish you could have avoided causing such a ruckus, especially on Knockturn Alley. Oh well, at least you captured him. Now, gentlemen, if you would come to my office, you have a visitor."

"A visitor? Who?" Patrick asked.

"Just come and see."

As they walked into the office, they were greeted by the sight of Albus Dumbledore sitting behind the captain's desk.

"Dumbledore? What do you want?" Patrick demanded.

"I have an assignment I think may prove to your liking Patrick," Dumbledore responded, ignoring the verbal barb thrown at him.

"What?"

"Howard, if you would please close the door," Dumbledore asked Captain Vos. "And now gentlemen, to business…"

**Several Days Later, 4 Privet Drive**

Someone knocked at the door in the middle of lunch, and Uncle Vernon merely threw Harry a warning glance. Harry left his seat and went to answer. He was greeted with the sight of a tall, red-haired man dressed in a fine suit and a trench-coat.

"Yes?" Harry asked.

The man just stared at him, as if in a state of shock. "James?" he asked in a thick Irish brogue.

"What?"

The man shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. "I'm sorry; you're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes. How do you know me?"

"It would be a blind man indeed who couldn't recognize James Potter's son. You're almost an exact copy. Except for your eyes. You have…"

"My mother's eyes."

"Aye."

"What the devil is going on out there?" Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen.

Harry stepped back to let the man in, any misgivings he may have had concerning him completely vanishing.

The man entered the kitchen. "May I speak with the woman of the house?"

Aunt Petunia stood up. The man handed her a handwritten note.

"Who are you?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"A friend of your sister-in-law." Uncle Vernon grew wide-eyed and leaped out of his chair, backing away from the man.

"Get out of my house," he said hoarsely.

"I assure you my good man, I intend to spend as little time in this house as possible. I'm merely here to make sure Harry gets packed up for school. That note I handed your wife is merely a letter from Professor Dumbledore explaining the situation. Oh, by the way sir, I think you should duck."

"Why?"

"Because there's a vampire right behind you," the man said as he pulled out his .45 and fired a shot. The vampire who had been sneaking up behind Uncle Vernon fell dead. Turning to look, Uncle Vernon almost fainted at the sight of the vampire's corpse.

"Alright, all of you stay calm." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a vial of garlic powder and spread it in a circle around the kitchen. "Don't leave the circle if you value your life. Harry, do you have the rosary Judah sent you for your birthday?"

Harry nodded and pulled it out of his pocket.

"Excellent. Put it around your neck, and follow me."

They headed upstairs, checking around corners. "Alright, stand back." The man pulled out a wand and muttered a few words. Suddenly, all of Harry's clothes, books and Quidditch equipment started moving and packing themselves into his trunk.

Suddenly another vampire leapt down from the roof behind Harry and grabbed him by the shoulder; he turned him around, hissing, and let go suddenly when he saw the rosary. Attempting to back away, he didn't get far before the man shot him with his .45.

"Now grab the trunk and your owl Harry, and let's get moving."

They rushed downstairs, the man holding his gun at the ready. They hurried to the kitchen. "Once we leave, you'll be safe," he told Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were huddled under the table, white with fear. "Until then, don't leave the circle. Give us five minutes."

They ran out the door, only to be greeted by a female vampire who jumped down from the roof. Once again, the rosary held her at bay, giving the man a clear shot at her. They sprinted across the lawn, Hedwig screeching all the way, and jumped into a black Jaguar parked a the curb.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Patrick O'Reilly; like I said, I was a friend of your parents when we were at Hogwarts together. You received a letter from Judah van Helsing?" he asked as he started the car. Harry nodded. "I was one of the 'Junior Marauders' he mentioned."

"I see things haven't changed much."

"Not really," Patrick added as they sped down the street.

"What's the business with those vampires?"

"Servants of Voldemort. Part of the army he's been raising. Sent them after you as a test run, probably. It was too hastily done for him to expect any results, especially with a hunter on the scene."

"Wonderful. Where are we heading? London?"

"No, the place is crawling with vampires. We'll be heading to Salisbury, and we can move by Floo Powder to our planned destination."

"Which is?"

"Amsterdam."

"Amsterdam?"

"Aye, to the Van Helsing Family Mansion. You'll be safe there; I've yet to hear of the vampire foolish enough to attempt attacking it."

Suddenly a loud thump hit the top of the car.

"Damn! Another one!" Several more thumps followed. "Several; alright you blood-sucking bastards, we'll play it your way!" So saying he pulled out his shotgun and loaded it, while the car continued to drive itself. "Hold on tight to that rosary Harry!"

He opened the door and leapt out onto the roof. Harry heard several shots, and two bodies fell off the car onto the pavement. The roof clanged and thumped, and another vampire hit the turf. Suddenly, Patrick leaped back into the car and resumed driving; Harry noticed uncomfortably that he was twenty kilometers above the legal speed limit.

"Shit!"

"What now?"

"We've got several more behind us."

"Where? I can't see anything," Harry said as he looked into the rear-view mirror.

"Harry, think for a moment. Do you really expect to see them in a mirror?"

"Oh," Harry said, and looked out the back window. Sure enough, five vampires were flying behind the car with eager looks on their faces. One of them reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a gun, cocked it and fired.

"Duck!" Harry didn't need to be told twice as a stream of bullets barely missed him and hit the dashboard.

"That's it; now I'm pissed!" Leaving the car to drive itself (now thirty kilos above the limit), Patrick jumped into the back seat and pulled out an M-16. Lowering the rear window, he steadied himself and fired several rounds at the vampires. "Try to fuck with my car, will ya?! Take that you beady-eyed bastards!" He let out several more bursts, bringing two of the vampires down.

Harry watched on in fascination when all of a sudden his window broke and a cold, clammy hand grabbed him by the neck. "Patrick!"

Turning, Patrick saw the vampire and fired a few rounds at him, hitting him in the face and barely missing Harry.

"Thanks Patrick, but next time you try to save me, you think you can do it without trying to kill me?"

"I don't know what you're whining about, lad, you're alive ain't ye?"

"Just barely."

Patrick fired until the magazine emptied, then returned to the driver's seat. He turned on the walkie-talkie. "Hibernia to Albion, Hibernia to Albion, come in please!"

"Albion here. Patrick, how's it going?"

"Just bloody fantastic! I've got three…no, seven vampires on my tail, and there's probably more on the way!"

"Where are you?"

"Hold on, let me turn on the tracking beam."

"Ah, yes we've got you. Oh damn, Patrick, you've got seven on your tail, and fifteen more headed in your general direction."

"Beautiful, Richard, just fucking beautiful! What the hell am I supposed to do?!"

"Easy Patrick, we're working that out. Okay, turn left at the upcoming intersection; we've got some boys from the SWAT armored team waiting for you."

"Hang on, Harry!" Patrick said as he gave the car a sharp left hand turn, leaving several burn marks on the road.

As they passed by, a tank appeared out of nowhere and started firing at the vampires, which had by now increased to thirty. A wolfs bane net caught five of them, and two more were shot down, but the rest were just too quick for the tank.

"Richard, we need some more help!"

"Hang on Patrick, hang on. Alright, are you ready for some cross-country driving?"

"Damn right."

"Excellent. Turn right, and keep going."

The car turned, and suddenly the tires changed into more sturdy truck tires than those normally suited to a sports car. By now Patrick had long since broken the 200 kilo mark.

The vampires had increased to fifty.

"Richard!"

"Okay, in five minutes, you'll be coming up to a cliff. Jump it!"

"Ha, now that's my kind of talk. Hang on to your hat, Harry!"

As the cliff approached, Patrick sped up to 250 kilos and Harry closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the car to plummet them to their doom.

"Yeeeeehaaaaa!!!!!" Harry looked up to see the car safely approaching the other side. As they landed with a bond-jarring crash, Harry heard an explosion behind them, and turned around. All he could see was debris floating in the air, and dead vampires plummeting to the ground.

"What was that?"

"Demolition team. Special order, it looks like. Bomb filled with white oak, silver shavings, mistletoe, holy water, garlic powder; the works."

"So we're safe now?"

"Aye. Once we get to Salisbury there'll be no way they can touch us. That whole city is sacred ground, protected by centuries of the highest powers; first the Druids, then the followers of Mithras, and finally, the ancient powers were baptized and perfected by the Church. They couldn't come there even if they wanted too."

Harry merely nodded and leaned back in his seat, suddenly very tired.

"That's a good idea Harry. Get some rest while you can. I'll wake you when we make it to Salisbury."

Harry didn't hear him. He was already fast asleep.


	6. A New Acquaintance

Chapter 5: A New Acquaintance

When they arrived at Salisbury, Patrick woke Harry up, unloaded his luggage, and led him to the Gothic cathedral.

"What's here?"

"Wait and see."

They walked through the church itself and out into the cloister. Coming upon a certain pillar, Patrick stopped, looked around to make sure no one else was around, and tapped it three times with his wand.

Suddenly the floor next to the pillar began to move, revealing a set of stairs heading underground.

"Follow me."

The slab moved back to its original position as they walked down, and soon they approached a wooden door. Patrick knocked three times, and the door knocker questioned them.

"Name, rank, creed and serial number," it demanded.

"Patrick O'Reilly, Sergeant, Avenger, 21645."

"Purpose of visit?"

"Escorting Mr. Harry Potter to Amsterdam via Floo Powder."

"Welcome Sergeant O'Reilly." At that, the door swung open.

As they walked in, Harry gasped in astonishment. The room was filled with tables covered in maps and parchment, computer screens, radars, all number of technologies he had never seen in the wizarding world before. Men were running back and forth, shouting instructions, delivering messages, while several men wearing military gear and armed to the teeth were hoping into a helicopter.

"Bound for London, no doubt. It's eerie; the vampire activity in that city hasn't been an issue since Count Dracula was killed."

"Why are they there?"

"I told you, lad, they're part of Voldemort's army. He's going to need more than a handful of Death Eaters if he's going to take on the entire wizarding world. And this is only the beginning."

Suddenly a tall man with mussed up blond hair and a monocle approached them.

"Oh Patrick, thank God you two are still alive. Sorry about the tank, I should have realized that it would be too slow to catch all those vampires. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Don't worry about it, boyo, we're all right, thanks to my superb driving skills, and an M-16."

"Ha! Well, hello Harry. My name's Richard Belmont; I was also one of the Junior Marauders Judah mentioned in his letter."

"Pleased to meet you Richard."

"Well, I see your all packed, so let's not delay you any longer than you need to. Come up to my office, we'll use my fireplace."

They stepped into his office, a clutter of parchments and quills. "Sorry about the mess. My main office is in York, but this is a little closer to the current scene of operations, so it'll do in a pinch. Ready Harry?" he asked as he pulled out a vase of Floo Powder.

Harry nodded.

"All right then. Patrick, you go first so he can learn the address."

Patrick grabbed Harry's trunk and stepped into the fireplace. He took a fistful of Floo Powder, and called out, "Haus van Helsing," before vanishing in a burst of green flame.

Harry took Hedwig's cage and stepped in. He grabbed some powder and yelled out, "Haus van Helsing!"

WHOOSH!

Suddenly he was in an elegant parlor, decorated in the style of the early Nineteenth-Century, making him feel that he had changed times as well as houses. He saw Patrick off to the right, talking to another man with slicked-back black hair and a goatee, dressed in expensive pants and a button-up shirt. Like Patrick, you couldn't tell this man was a wizard merely by looking at him.

Suddenly he turned, caught sight of Harry, and gasped. "My God; he really does look like James," he said quietly. He slowly approached Harry, and peered at his face. Suddenly, as if stepping out of a trance, he shook his head lightly, and his eyes lost their glazed-over look.

"Forgive me, Harry, but you were still a baby the last time I saw you. We all knew that you were going to favor James, but we weren't expecting a carbon copy." He laughed lightly. "Welcome Harry. I'm Judah van Helsing," he said with a slight bow of the waist. "Welcome to my home; Dumbledore wants you to spend you're summer here, so please, until school starts, feel free to consider it your home as well."

"Um, thank you, sir," Harry answered uncertainly. He wasn't sure how to take all this.

"Ah, but of course you're worried about your friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Well, rest assured Harry, they will be coming to visit in a few weeks, along with Remus. But, here I stand babbling while you're probably tired and hungry. Smiley!" A rather well-dressed house elf came into the room. "Smiley, take care of Harry's luggage please." The house elf bowed in subservience, snapped his fingers and caused the trunk and cage to levitate, Hedwig screeching in protest. Smiley walked off, and the luggage followed him up the stairs into the guest room laid aside for Harry's use.

"Now, may I offer you something? A drink, or something to eat?"

"I am a little thirsty."

"Say no more," Judah responded, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a goblet floated into the room. The pitcher filled the goblet, which then proceeded to float over to Harry, who stared at it dumbstruck.

"You don't like pumpkin juice?"

"Oh, no, I love it, it's just that…I've never seen anyone do that without a wand."

Judah threw back his head and laughed. "I think you'll find, Harry, as I said in my letter, we have certain skills that most run-of-the-mill wizards only dream about. If you thought that was impressive, just wait till you've been living here for a few weeks."

Harry took the goblet hesitantly, sipped at it, and realized just how thirsty he really was. He chugged it down, and the pitcher promptly refilled it. When he had finished that, both pitcher and goblet floated back into the kitchen. "Thank you very much," Harry said.

"Think nothing of it. Now, doubtless Patrick has taken you through Hell and back to get you here, so if you wish, you may rest up in your room. There's a washing basin in there if you want to freshen up, and dinner will be served in four hours, so if you wish you may rest up."

"Again, thank you sir."

"Oh, please, my inferiors call me 'sir'. You're James' son, you may call me Judah, if you wish."

"Well, thank you, Judah."

"Smiley, show Harry up to his room."

Harry followed the house elf (was that a black suit it was wearing?) up the stairs into a bedroom. Its opulence took Harry's breath away. A lavish four-poster bed was in the center of the wall, surrounded by a wardrobe, a wash basin and pitcher, two chairs and a table with a wizard's chess set on it, as well as lace curtains and a screen for dressing behind. Harry felt the bed, realized how tired he was, climbed in, and fell asleep. Smiley drew the bed curtains, walked out and quietly closed the door.

**Later, in the Billiard Room**

"Well Judah, you certainly put up a convincing act for Harry, didn't you? Nine ball, corner pocket."

"I'm just trying to make the boy feel welcome, Patrick. He must be exhausted after the crap you put him through to get him here."

"Why does everyone keep blaming me? The way you talk, you'd think I purposely lured those vampires to Surrey. Eight ball, side pocket. Ha! I win."

"That's best three out of five," Judah commented as he put up his pool stick. "Besides, he's James' son. Why shouldn't I make him feel welcome?"

"Oh, I don't mind your hospitality Judah. I just wonder what he's going to think when he finds out that the scion of the greatest family of Hunters in Europe has turned coward."

"Careful, Patrick; as Jake would say, 'Them's fightin' words.'"

"That's about all we can expect from you anymore, isn't it? Fighting words, but no actual fighting."

"Patrick, I'm sorry that not all Hunters can be as enthusiastic about staring death in the face as you are."

"Please. This isn't about who's the better man, the cautious Defender or the reckless Avenger; this is about your inability to fulfill your oath."

"What oath? Oh, that blood oath we took twenty-four years ago? That was before I realized there were more important things to live for then being a killing machine."

"If you're talking about your family, stop right there. Ivan's in the same situation as you are; counting down the days until he can take a permanent desk job and his pension. And yes, Helga is pressuring him to try and get it done earlier. But, she understands that it's not going to happen, so in the meantime, she encourages him to do a good job; and he does. As much as he hates it, he gets out there and fights with those motherfuckers every fucking day, even manages to bring a few of them down with him."

Judah said nothing, but turned and looked out the window, fingering the rosary on his belt.

"Judah, this boy is our only hope; he's the only one who can kill Voldemort, and he's going to need all the support he can get. He's not going to get that support with your moping around the house. Or has your pacifism extended to Voldemort as well?"

"Damn it, Patrick, now that's taking it just a bit too far!"

"Is it really? It's quite difficult to tell with your attitude lately, Judah!"

"Will you two stop fighting? You're going to wake the boy up," Helena van Helsing, Judah's wife, called from the hallway.

"Sorry Helena. Well, I've got to get back to London, let Molly and the others know Harry's alright. See ya, Judah," Patrick called as he stepped through the fireplace.

Judah walked over to the brandy decanter and poured himself a glass. Coward, eh? Could he be right? No, he couldn't be…he just couldn't be…

Helena walked into the room. "Judah, is something wrong?"

"Only everything," he replied between sips of brandy.

"What were you two fighting about?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? Your husband's a coward."

"So, Patrick's not so supportive of your decision either?"

"He doesn't know my decision."

"You mean you haven't told anyone?"

"Of course not; I get enough crap at the office just for stating my opinion on the way things are going now. Can you imagine how it's going to be if I told them I was leaving?"

She said nothing, but walked up to her husband, placing her arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. He placed his arm around her shoulders and kissed her, a tear streaming down his cheek as he stroked her hair.

"Why won't you tell me what you think?"

No response; not that he had expected one. He sipped at his brandy again. "I remember how much fun it was when we started; basic training, martial arts, learning magic most wizards only dreamed about, learning how to manipulate time and space, neutralizing spells with a gesture, even learning a little bit of mind control. Then I met you, right after taking the Hunter's Oath. Then I was imbued. I thought I was on top of the world." Another sip. "Then I met Wolfgang, and helped me hone my skills to an art form. I joined Team Tepes, thought I was invincible. We all did. Well, we learned our lesson quite quickly, didn't we?"

"Judah, if you're so sure about your decision, why are you agonizing over it?"

"I'm imbued; where else am I going to go? Once I do quit, that will only be the beginning. We will never be able to live an ordinary life; I lost the chance for that once I was imbued. You lost it the day you married me." He sighed deeply. "Fame; ain't it a bitch?" It was an attempt at humor, but the tears flowed freely from his eyes. Suddenly Judah noticed his hand was hurting. He looked down to see that he was gripping the brandy glass tightly, knuckles white. Fortunately, the glass was a family heirloom, so it had an accident proof charm on it.

Judah put the glass down. "Come on, let's get ready for dinner.

**Later That Evening**

Harry woke up around six, and found a note on his pillow.

_Harry, my wife is of the opinion that you're probably too tired to want to sit through dinner and try to be polite to us, and I agreed, so we'll be sending your dinner to your room. Bon appetite._

_Judah._

Thankful for the break, he walked over to the wash basin, filled it with cold water from the pitcher, and began washing his face with it in an attempt to wake himself up. He then washed his hands, and had just finished drying them off when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called out.

The door opened and Smiley walked in carrying a covered tray. He placed it on the table, removed the cover, bowed to Harry, and left. At the door stood a young man dressed in a tux.

"Harry Potter?" he asked, extending his arm.

"Yes."

"Perez van Helsing, Hogwarts Class of '92."

"You do look vaguely familiar."

Perez laughed. "I'm surprised I even look vaguely familiar. You had a lot more on your mind that year then who the current Head Boy was."

"Well, the fez was kind of hard to miss."

"Oh, I hated wearing that thing. Most of my predecessors did; the only one I can think of who did enjoy wearing it was Percy Weasley, which isn't saying much."

Now it was Harry's turn to laugh.

"Anyway, Dad just wanted to make sure you were alright, and if you need anything, just pull the bell cord and Smiley will be at your disposal. Oh yes, if you can, save some room for desert; my sister's prepared her famous 'Death by Chocolate' cake tonight. She'll bring up a piece for you when you're finished."

"Thanks," Harry said. Perez bowed and left.

Dinner was roasted goat's meat soaked in a red wine sauce, along with some side dishes Harry was unable to identify. A bit exotic, but not all that bad. He heard the clashing of steel, and turned to see what the problem was. One of the pictures in the room was a picture of two knights locked in combat, which had just now come to life in the way of pictures in the wizarding world. One of the knights looked over at Harry. "Glad to see your awake, young master." He quickly ducked as his opponent attempted to slice off his head. "We had to call it quits while you were asleep, so I hope you don't mind if we resume." He then tried to pin his opponent's shoulder to a nearby tree, but with no success.

"Not at all," Harry replied. "I rather enjoy having a live show with dinner."

Suddenly the opponent beheaded the knight who had spoken to Harry. When he fell dead to the ground, a group of medics stepped into the picture, placed the body on a stretcher and carried it off. Soon afterwards, another knight stepped into the frame and resumed the fight.

When Harry finished his dinner, there was another knock at the door. "Come in."

Once again, the house elf entered carrying a plate. Placing it on the table, he then snapped his fingers, and the dinner tray floated up and out of the door, followed by the house elf. Harry looked toward the door, and saw a young girl in a black dress.

Um, hi, Miss…" he asked nervously.

"Rachel van Helsing."

"Rachel. Um, are you up at Hogwarts? I swear I've seen you before."

"Actually, yes I am. This year will be my Fourth Year. I must say, though, I'm surprised you remembered me, what with everything that's been going on."

Harry tried to think of how to respond, but his mind came up blank. My, but she was pretty.

"Well, I have to get back to dinner. I hope you enjoy your desert."

"Thank you," Harry said as she walked down the stairs.

He returned to his seat and took a bite of the cake. It was as if there was a chocolate explosion inside his mouth. Delicious, but overpowering. He quickly took several gulps from his glass of milk. Whew! So that's why they called it 'Death by Chocolate.'

After he had finished, there was another knock at the door. Before he could respond, however, it opened and Judah walked in.

"Ah, Harry, I see you had some of my daughter's cake. How was it?"

"It was…an adventure," he replied slowly.

"Ha! That's putting it mildly, I can see. Anyway, this letter arrived for you from the Weasleys. That poor owl of theirs is resting in my owlery. Poor chap hit the window coming in. Couldn't tell if it was closed or open, I guess."

"As usual," Harry commented.

"Aye. Well, if you need anything Harry, don't hesitate to ask. Remember, this is going to be your home for the rest of the summer."

"Thank you."

Judah bowed and left Harry alone once again.

He tore open the letter and began to read.

_Harry, _

_Patrick told us all about your escape from the Muggles. Needless to say, Mum went ballistic. She gave Patrick a good talking to, using some choice words to describe him, unable to believe he had been so reckless with you in his car. Anyway, we're going to try to come and visit you in a few weeks, so hang in there. I'll be seeing you soon._

_Ron._

As he put the letter down, Harry began to wonder how he was going to spend the rest of the summer. He looked around the room. Well, it was certainly an improvement from Privet Drive; and since he knew that he probably couldn't stand another summer at Grimmauld Place, this would have to do.


End file.
